Night, again and here I am, pondering the specificity of my unctuous requests, enraptured and Heaven-sent on the backs of clasped palms, no random incidental tests of charm. Every night I thank Him there, for faith and hope and grace, … Continue reading Night, Again. A poem.
Caught, Caged and Sentenced. A haiku trilogy. Caught You have trapped me here. I once wandered, so lonely, until your net fell. Caged I am in your cage, your pristine cell; I’m locked in, pacing back and forth. Sentenced Will … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Caught, Caged and Sentenced’. A haiku trilogy.
My futile and unavailing words cannot express the anguished, quixotic, melancholic, mad salience and utterly unquenchable need to hold you and love you as no one ever could or would or should. But here I am, alone. Thinking of nothing … Continue reading The Madness of You. A poem.
This oil, viscous and thick, holding me fast in the tar pit of my black heart and head, since the very start. Wish I could shed this black dog That follows me everywhere. Perhaps soon, anon, I’ll lose my empty … Continue reading This Oil. A poem.
This room is overcrowded, ingurgitated hell. But just you and me, if you subtract everyone else. This room is clamorous, cacophonous hell. But you could hear me (so very clearly), if you subtract everyone else. This room is overheated, agitated … Continue reading Subtract. A poem.
Driftwood, floating on percolating tides. Saltwater soaks fossil branches. Sand embraces nooks and crannies. Driftwood, meandering, awaiting a tactile, tacit end. Longing for a final, lasting beach head. The All or the Nothing is my first book of poetry, and … Continue reading Driftwood (Beached, part 3). A poem.
Tri-fin cutting foaming swathes in majestic, molten, crashing waves. Off-shore wind: the only stakes, paddling out to meet the break. To take his certain place in line, for the weaving surf to redefine. To forge a newborn legend free, the … Continue reading The Board (Beached, part 2).
The wild surf, like his impetuous heart, pounds and beats the sandy shore, like a pugilist with vanity to spare. Here the relentless, crashing waves make their mark in odd time signatures, in fluid and passionate syncopation, a symphony of … Continue reading The Wild Surf (Beached, part 1). A poem.
You are my focus. Without you I am a blur, a hazy remnant lurking on the periphery of this sun-scorched existence. You are the prism through which I shine. You are my multiplicity of light, an enchanted, technicolour spectrum, illuminating … Continue reading Focus. A poem.
Your bold sweetness leaves the bitter taste of regret, a sensate lamentation, dissonant on my tongue. This saccharine tinge leaves me cold and wanting; a vine that dies from frost that sears the roots black and returns them back to … Continue reading Saccharine. A poem.
Climb. Against the winds that claim this bitter peak, that scrape and slurry and mince no words but enforce dominion and push and pull and drag you down until you can climb no more. Climb. My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available … Continue reading Climb. A poem.
Feel me here: antediluvian, lumbering. As unlike as we are, an inordinate attraction like opposite magnetic poles, dragging us together like merciless luna tides. Your lightning source code will tame this savage beast, magnetic moments designed to simulate a halcyon … Continue reading Magnetic. A poem.
Why do I always linger longer in this place? Why do I capitulate to my black dog space? I throw the stick for him and he brings it back for me to beat myself again, so he can jump and … Continue reading Linger Longer. A poem.
Dressed to Kill. A haiku trilogy. 1. Dressed Dressed to kill, you are; A fortunate turn for me, can’t avert my eyes. 2. High You float on high heels, that could puncture my heart through like Cupid’s arrow. 3. Gone … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Dressed to Kill’, a haiku trilogy.
Yep, it’s that time of the month, again. Time for some dreary photos to liven up your/my dreary world. This time, I’ve included a few (very) brief poems to accompany my black and white, unfiltered shots. Sunlight. A poem. Through … Continue reading Upstart Photographer #7. And poems, no less.
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